Fatherhood
by TikiPrincess
Summary: Rick takes some time off from taking care of Judith to go on a supply run with Daryl. A Rickyl one-shot.


No claims, although I wish I could because I have a crapton of bills that need to be paid.

* * *

When Rick spotted the squat brick building ahead, he couldn't suppress the smile from his face. He made a beeline for the sheriff's station, pulling the car close to the door. It wasn't his own, they were at least thirty miles from there, but it was familiar enough, and he'd gone through the academy with a few of the guys stationed here.

"We're in for a real treat here, Daryl," he said.

"Think they still got guns in there?"

"They got somethin' even better."

Despite Daryl's a look of disbelief, he followed Rick to the door and helped shimmy it open. They dispatched the Walkers lurking inside with ease, the synchronicity of their movements honed to perfection over the past few years. Even Rick's month-long hiatus after the fall of Woodbury didn't seem to have affected their efficiency.

If Rick was being honest with himself, it felt good to be out again. A bit more satisfying that tilling the earth and waiting for things to grow. Not that taking care of Judith didn't fill up that time. She was getting bigger every day, and he had the joy of watching her. More so than he'd had when Carl was a baby. Back then, he'd changed a few diapers and warmed a few bottles, but he hadn't needed to be so involved in Carl's upbringing until the boy was old enough to walk and play ball. He'd also had a demanding job and a stay-at-home wife. Now that world was gone.

Daryl tapped his shoulder, bringing him back to the present. Daryl cocked his head towards a set of heavy metal doors. Lock-up. The only thing that way would be more dead bodies. Rick motioned towards the door at the opposite end of the room.

They entered the hallway, surprisingly clear of Walkers. The station had a similar layout to his, which meant the kitchen was on the right and the locker room on the left. Evidence and equipment were further down the hall. He walked over to a door, readying his knife.

The first Walker went down with a bolt from Daryl's crossbow. The second fell from a knife through the eye. The third suffered the same fate, and the fourth got Daryl's machete to the head. Rick motioned for the other man to take the row of lockers to the left while he cautiously made his way along the right. They finished clearing out the room, including the bathroom stalls, only encountering two more Walkers.

"Let's pile 'em up by the door, make sure any others can't get in," he said, dragging a Walker by the feet.

"Don't you wanna check the other rooms?"

"What I'd really like to do is have a hot shower 'cause I haven't had one since we left the Greene farm."

Daryl gave him a look and shook his head. But he grabbed onto the Walker and helped pull it towards the door.

After they'd finished, Rick busted open a few lockers until he found some shampoo and soap. He turned on the water, hoping that this station had installed propane like his had. When the warm water started coursing over his fingers, he let out a whoop of joy. Quickly, he shucked off his clothes and stuck his head under the shower. "Come on," he said to Daryl, who hung back. "Can't let this hot water go to waste."

"You go first," said Daryl, looking away. "I'll keep watch."

"Suit yourself, but I can't guarantee I'll leave any hot water for you."

In spite of his words, Rick hurried through his ministrations, standing under the warm stream for only a few minutes before rinsing off the lather. He wrapped a towel around his waist and called out to Daryl, who sounded like he was opening up lockers on the other side of the room. "Your turn."

Rick scooped up his clothes and made his way to the benches in between a row of lockers, out of sight from the showers. Even though they'd gotten closer over the years, Daryl was still a very private person. Rick respected that and wasn't willing to push him.

He held up his boxers, unwilling to put his soiled clothes back on now that he finally felt clean for the first time in years. He opened up the nearest locker. Women's clothes. Wouldn't do him any good, but someone back in the prison could use them. He continued down the row, turning the corner before he could think to stop himself.

Daryl stood with his hands against the tile, water running down his back. Rick drew in his breath at the sight, the skin puckered with scars, some deep, some only thin lines of whiter flesh. The sound drew Daryl's attention, and he looked up, his eyes narrowing as he met Rick's gaze. "You got a problem?"

"Was it Merle?" asked Rick, refusing to back down from Daryl's stare.

Daryl turned towards him, drawing himself up to his full height, his thin chest expanding. Rick waited for that string to release, for Daryl to loose his fury. A fury that Rick deserved. This wasn't just about being a private person. This was something personal, the kind of knowledge that had to be earned.

And just like that, the moment passed. Daryl's shoulders sagged, and he turned back to the wall. "Weren't Merle. I'm guessing he's got a matching set."

Rick grunted a response, not knowing what to say. He'd dealt with a few abuse cases before while he was still a sheriff and the world hadn't gone to shit. But there had been social workers and psychologists and the victims had been children and women, people looking for comfort and protection. Not grown men like Daryl.

The water turned off, and Daryl stepped out, still avoiding Rick's eyes as he wrapped himself in a towel. "Do me a favor? Don't tell anyone. Okay?"

"You got it, man," said Rick. He opened up a locker and peeked inside. "These clothes look like they might fit you."

Daryl nodded and waited for Rick to move away before checking out the contents. Rick continued his search and found something suitable for himself. After they were both dressed, they gathered anything salvageable and threw it into a duffel bag they'd found in one of the lockers.

"Your dad… is he dead?" asked Rick, breaking the silence as they moved the bodies from the door.

"Don't know," said Daryl. "Ran away when I was sixteen. Lived on my own for a couple months before Merle found me. We ain't been back home since."

Rick nodded, finally understanding why Daryl was so loyal to his asshole of a brother. It was a bond that ran deeper than blood. "You, um, you think he's still alive?"

Daryl let out a rueful chuckle. "If anyone would've survived this shit, it'd be that bastard. Where do you think me and Merle learned it from?"

"We should find him."

Daryl's head lifted, his eyes finally meeting Rick's again. They were narrow, guarded. "Why? You think he could be _useful_ to the prison?"

"No," said Rick, his hand instinctively curling into a fist. "I'd just like to personally kill the son-of-a-bitch that did that to you."

The hard lines of Daryl's face softened a bit, and he ran his tongue across his lips. "What if he's already dead?"

"We shoot him a few more times, just to make sure."

"Ain't that a waste of ammo?"

"Not the way I see it." Rick reached out, laying his hand on Daryl's shoulder. The muscles stiffened beneath his fingers, and he realized that he'd pushed too far, made a mistake.

Then Daryl sighed and a smile crept across his face. "I'm good, man. But thanks for the offer."

"Anytime, brother," he said, giving Daryl's shoulder a squeeze, "anytime."

They finished up, clearing out the rest of the rooms and gathering supplies. And they left behind more than just a few dead bodies when they drove away from the station that afternoon. All in all, it was a good haul, a good day.


End file.
